The Endless Drums
by Enchiladas
Summary: What if the Doctor never got out of the Pandorica? What would have gone through his head? Surely, a thousand-year old alien must have some grief. Especially since he murdered his own race. Set after 'The Pandorica Opens'. Inspired by 'And I Must Scream' by starlingnight. One-shot. Rated T for dark themes.


**A/N: Hello all. This little one-shot is the result of a lot of stress, little sleep, and a lot of Doctor Who. Enjoy!**

**P.S.: This story is dedicated to everyone affected by the Boston Marathon Bombing.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor Who, Matt Smith would take his shirt off more than Jacob Black.**

* * *

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The beat repeated over, and over, and over, and over. One, two, three, four. Would it, could it, will it, or won't it stop. One, two three four.

The Doctor. Trapped. Fitting, seeing as the man who stole the box should die in one. If you could really call it death...

He lost track of how long he'd been in the Pandorica. It could have been hours, days, months, or years. Or maybe twenty minutes, he couldn't really be sure. In the Pandorica, there was no time. There was just the endless silence. Except the infuriating sound of his hearts. How he wished it would stop. One, two, three, four.

The Doctor now understood why the Master seemed to want to kill everyone all the time. If the he hadn't been restrained, the Doctor would have done everything in his power to stop the infuriating, endless noise. Four, three, two, one.

Amy would be wondering where he was- oh wait, all of time and space has undoubtably crumbled outside this stupid cube.

Why did they do it. Why did they do it. Why did they do it. Why did they do it. The question repeats itself over and over again in his head. Did they want to assure their own demise? Surely, even the Daleks would not want _everyone_ to die! There would be nothing left to exterminate! Nothing left to delete! Nothing left to send back! Nothing to destroy!

The Doctor was the only one who could save the universe. Yes, it sounded egotistical, but frankly, it was true. He wasn't even sure if it would work, but what would be the point if he didn't try? He would die anyway.

No. He is stuck in a box. John Smith, Spaceman, Theta Sigma, Raggedy Man, the Oncoming Storm, the Doctor. All names he had been called. Now he gets to add 'Prisoner' to that list.

One, two, three, four. He had heard that drumbeat one million, five-hundred and ninety-eight thousand, four-hundred and thirty-eight times since he had entered the Pandorica. Wait- make that one million, five-hundred and ninety-eight thousand, four-hundred and thirty-nine times.

He wished it would stop. Not only would the noise stop, but so would his sentence. Peace from the bloody trail that followed him wherever in time and space he traveled. Fate wouldn't let the trail end. It was always there, haunting him. The voices, faces, and memories of those he had killed, let down, or abandoned.

Susan, Ian, Barbara, the Brigadier, Sarah Jane, Rose, Donna, Martha, Craig, Wilf, Rory, and the most recent of all, Amy. His Amy. The Girl Who Waited. He was letting her, and the rest of the universe down by getting trapped in a bloody box!

He deserved more. He had saved entire civilizations, worlds, and everything else! He did not deserve this! He just wanted peace! Peace. Peace. Peace. Peace. He wanted silence. For it all to just. End. He did not deserve his burden. Maybe he did. He may have saved millions of lives, but he had also ended just as many. He went trouping across the universe with his nice little pity party of companions trying to right his wrong, but nothing can change the fact that he, the Doctor, is a murderer.

Did he like it? The sense of power? He is not ashamed anymore to say, he loved it. The fear in the eyes of his victims. The power radiating throughout his body. He was the last Time Lord. The last observer of the universe. He had no rules. He was God.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One. Two. Three. Four. And then, it stopped. He had won. There was no more numbers. There was no more thoughts. There was no more noise. There was just. Zero.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks, and CC is wanted, flames=s'mores, and I would greatly appreciate a review. *hint hint***


End file.
